I am yelly You're a fat Hampton lady,she thinks we're scamming /trying to get our check before our time we return to Shipwreck a long deer path to the ocean the shells are small red sea roses line the sand the Pine Cones are small and on the needled trees the water is bright blue who has the control the one who doesn't answer the holder of money the miniature furniture on the roadside and the hungry faces of sportscar freaks our Bronx Apt welcomes all who enter who has the control

Poems by Francy Stoller: Tiny Tasha piece/ for Steve who makes me laugh

Poems by Francy Stoller: Tiny Tasha piece/ for Steve who makes me laugh: eye of wave / salt / smile /undertow / and dive //die / and return to the sea live the bracelet / the drift wood stick / making me feel sorr...

s upThe Lost Angel of the Northland

A little girl
wonders
why don't
they like me
Is is the way my hair curls
From now on I'm
gonna speak my mind
no more hiding in the corner
crying
This is it
speak it
or beat it

Things are never as good as you'd like them-they're better

Another scircher in the Bay-Gonna take down the curtains and have a sun bath-There is no telling how long we've loved like this-the strawberry patch is nearly nineteen years old-the bears never come out because they're scared- I've watched so many Father Knows Best-that O think I'm Cathy-the trouble with getting old is that you think you know everything-I've come full circle this tome-another year might not be in the cards- I could lay down and not wake up-

The Buzzaround town is that the Kids are coming-all nine-Let me take a minute to prepare

They call it the pscychotic break
when one goes too far
out on a limb
I Conked out a lil' while ago
couldn't tewll why
there was a space on the mantle
caise I was holding the GingerPot
Call me lame
of another planet
I see the svene
unfolding
the yellow plastic Daisies
on the table
bird in a cage
All ways someone telling you
I'm outta line
you stuck w/the kids
like I said
we never planned for the roof
to cave in
shit happens

One time I Escape/You are Pssed-They say to not go Up-there is Danger Ahead

I Chant
A hoo A hoo
Oh time to winch the Wagon to the ole car hitch
There is room for the older ones
but the Song birds are not
permitted in the second cabin
leaves between my ties
like they tell the girls
Beware-the Dark Forest
has a million eyes staring
at you
Take the Chines Embroidered purse it's my design
and the Sewing Mags
but if you sleep with my Man again
I'll kill you
the shell positioned in the Living Room floor
Have the Rockaway Sand thick like powder
crunching the already convoluted scent of years
of scavanging thru old houses
and the tale of three blind mice
wash my blood w/yours
the stain cannot say whose fault
the Umbrellas are up-the Wire is cut
E.C and Gregory have danced w/me
the two-step I know
carries me hime
Tra La La La

Scrolling down for The Last Time

The baby is hidden/maybe behind a curtain-I'm not going this time-it's your affair and has to be private. There is a scathing riff between the families-about money I presume,there is none-we've been to the Village elders just like you wanted and this time there is no going back. An ilder adult son is in the house/he's hiding the family jewels.All I need is one of those plastic whirligigs that let you hang the infant clothes on-I'll run to the wash-house-but flat doesn't do it-spin pale blue/pink/yellow/white-come on-six bucks and a a quarter tip for the guy without legs and the pertpetual smile who hangs out in front of the Retail Market.

the lessening of the agenda/the elder prepares for Shabbos

I am up near the clouds on a high rock cliff/I am your bride/the daisy crown is on my veil/the pale yellow pumps I dyed for the occasion are slipping in the rugged terrain/lace around my body/a bouquet of gladiolas/red/white/pink/lilac are stationed in my hands / no one seems to be here/your serape/embroidered silk threads is blowing in the slight wind/we have taken the vows but no one seems to be here

Been to Paradox/past Eagle Lake

Follow the scent of fresh spruce/ hold each other tightly
the horses are tan
ned and spotted
the air is fresh

Racism in The Twenty-First Century

what a fool we are to racial profile for poverty too

Getting Around The Mulberry Bush/Or when You Can't Wake Up and You Can't Sleep

• There's this adage that says When the Work's done it's done/when you're dead/you're dead/this spasmadic life keeps feeding me sour grapes/my ole raggedy poems look like dung/I come back to the jealousy issue/the feminine issue/things that I'm afraid to look straight in the eyes...Why did I feel like all life's about is love/you have to do your work and I mine/just because I never get paid like you do/we set it up this way/one money/one love....

On Racism and our trip to NOLA/right before Katrina

• 
  
  Boy did it feel white in the French Quarter/Steve got so much attention/I felt like everyone knew him. People didn't stop warning us not to go out in to the wards/we would get beat. We're from the Bronx/we said..It's a mess up in here. Then Katrina/safely back in the Bronx/we watch T.V./actually we just heard the news from Upland/and from the kids who were glued/thinking about how lucky we were to have missed the hurricane by one week.In these cases it is a miscarriage of the Press presenting a thoroughly corrupt vision of how profiled the African Americans were presented with their flesh still fresh floating in the canals and in the gutter.

We've been away so long it feels like home

• Babies/everywhere/pictures and crawling/creeping/I have come full circle. Today Indy goes under to get a filling posted/we snuggle round the spin-off/eat knishes in Brooklyn with Jacki and Moe/late Passover celebration. We are going nowhere really/the work is piling up and we cannot keep up with ourselves.

The Passover of 2010/We are finding a way

I remember when the kids are young and I'd be up waiting for them to rise. It is such a sweet time/now I have that time constantly/the no wait/the projects/ the getting ready to leave the house. The rumination/the re-evaluation of my work/the writing/the community involvement/I look to the mirror of life.

• We can find the ability to see us from the outside/to view ourselves as others do/the gypsy fight to survive in a world which praises possessions/not art.We have the art and family to create security. I walk West to where the dead pigeons lay/see the sun sets as my heart fetters to keep beating.

Washington Street/Mother Cabrini High School

• She's wearing a red coat,the church lady said to her one-way walkie talkie/Dad just stayed in his pew genuflecting/there is no way out/a shrine w/ gold icons/no Torah cabinet.

Green water in the canal/rippling ice/Melisa growing/her baby smiling/the life of the artist is continuing to be interesting despite the frustration o

of flowers grown in the the snow/yellow Marigolds/Where are the Hyacinth bulbs. The plaster statues and McCoy cookie jars sit nicely on the card-table/an era of creating Steve's second novel The Poet is complete/4000 hrs of typing in the pappersroon with no heat in -30/and the rewriting in the most vicarious of situations/no money stashed for a rainyday/no comfort as the parents used to say/just the kids/calling and padding our palms with shekels/a hard reciprocation for forty years of pain/struggle and humiliation/I am now at Social Services receiving my pension plan-$240.00 a month for the rest of my days awarded monthly/I can't wait for the first installment. There are women here who get cash payouts/(I wonder how you get that) one lady is counting her $67.98. The street yield an kind of rough torrent. I stood in Barnes'n Nobles and read Ina May Gaskin's new book on home birth Csections/ now at night I hold my belly and wonder how deep one must cut right above the pubis to pull the baby out/the umbilicus long and white like those carnival balloons one makes crowns or Poodles out of twisting them.

What can be said that hasn't already been rehashed

• We triffled through this sequence/you drew for seventy hours and I sat in the cold room and flipped through poems/trying to find one extraordinary piece to publish in this year's edition of "Frost". The children scrapped around working to their capacity/earning prestige and honors from their perspective fields. We wanted to all be together for one night but the hotel refused us/No bohemian blood allowed here/If the parents have ever been involved with long-haired activities/they are not welcome. And so we keep running.

Christmas in New York/the baby's here and we are looking out nto a new horizon

• We reach for the pills,they are in a glass bowl on the stove/a bug is imprinted in cut glass on the bottom. You take five and I take five/they're low-grade so we will just sleep more soundly/probably just hear the phone ring in the parlor. We haven't gone to this extent ever/breakfast dishes still in the sink/we seem to be out of hope/a great fear hounds us/we've run this course before/the account reads .00 and the children are all on their feet/we are in every one's way/our language has been reduced to drivel. When the end of O'Bama's term we will have crossed over/we want to let go/but Melisa is having a baby in the Spring and our eighth grandchild is on its' way/we will be there with bells on and a song in our hearts/then we'll see.

HOW LONG DO WE HAVE TO WAIT for Christmas

This semester has been complicated by our traveling in space/It tries our nerves to succumb to the rigors of the twenty-first/damn we have been to the other side of reality once too often/the grandchildren have checked in/Nathan especially takes care of us. His sweet nature exhibits the best of both his parents. We kiss our girl Indiana Capri and she knows exactly who we are/Ahdy shyly looks back at us and pretends that he is a new kid on the block/this princess Siena knows when we need attention/she calls with loving concern/Tomorrow is Elizabeth Rose's birthday/she has almost found herself/and she is not ten yet/Our darling Gabrielle e-mails in the knick of time,"Call me, I need to touch base."In Borough Park a miracle baby is born,our Ariella Isabel/she is a young warrior/she has the baton/and knows the dove's language/the poems/the songs/we will carry her to Mecca/wrapped in a Palestinian scarf/her Jewish core can stop a million year war. I love the life/the street/the fight/the grand granjetes'But don't believe that this huge trial I've been in/there are no answers/no judgements/

The train is here/but we are not ready/been a long time since we took this highway

• From the time we left the area till now there have been no guarantees/we have learned everything as we have gone along/what you didn't know/I did/and vice versa/ This process has worked/there are individual signs of complete accomplishment. Your work adorns the homes of the people who have found it necessary to collect it. We by inference/ are also hanging along with the paintings. This alone has been a perfect trip.